


Direct Order

by Liralen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:05:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liralen/pseuds/Liralen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spy!au, in which Louis is the leader and Harry violates a direct order to rescue him, and then they make out. You know, as spies under threat of constant danger do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Direct Order

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a comment on tumblr that I have since lost, as well as the Vogue pictures of the boys looking like bad asses in those suits ([here](http://wac.450f.edgecastcdn.net/80450F/popcrush.com/files/2012/11/1DVogue1.jpg) and [here](http://i2.mirror.co.uk/incoming/article1413197.ece/ALTERNATES/s615/One+Direction+Vogue+Magazine+photo+shoot)).
> 
> Not betaed or Brit-picked, with apologies for any errors.

The moment they're back in the safe house, Louis starts in on him.

"Hey," he says, voice low and sharp, tight with tension. "Hey! What the hell was that back there?"

"Not now," Harry brushes him off.

"The fuck, 'not now'. What the hell d'you think you were doing?"

"Not now, Louis. I've got to get this to—"

"That'll fucking wait."

Louis's hand flashes out, and it's every instinct Harry has fighting against his self-control to twist away from Louis's touch, snap back the thin wrist and swing down to shatter the elbow, but he holds on. Adrenaline pumping through him at a thousand miles an hour, but he holds on.

"Let go of me."

"Not until you tell me exactly what the fuck happened back there and how you're gonna make sure it never happens again."

"I lost my cool."

Louis makes a soft, disgusted sound in the back of his throat. Harry's mouth thins, lip twitching up against a sneer.

"No shit, you lost your cool. You violated a direct fucking order and jeopardized the whole mission, not to mention all our lives. D'you get that? Is any of this coming through, Styles?"

"You don't have to tell me what I did, I was there!" Harry roars.

"Then help me understand it!" Louis roars back, getting in Harry's face. Close enough now to count off the erratic pulse of Louis's heart in his neck; close enough to smell the sticky copper scent of blood where it still trickles from a gash on Louis's cheek. The sight of that blood reflares heat in Harry's stomach, and just that fast he's shaking again, hands fisted, ready to tear something to the ground.

"Fuck you," he spits in Louis's face.

He sees the flash of shock in blue eyes, only a millisecond, but it's long enough to pull free of Louis's grasp. Just long enough to do that, and then Louis's on him again, and the gloves are off. Harry's half a head taller and a stone heavier, and he doesn't stand a chance. It's barely a minute before Louis's got him pinned to the floor, hands on his wrists again and thick, muscular thighs against his chest, and all Harry can do is seethe and glare and be totally fucking useless. Again.

"Let's try that again," Louis says carefully, over-calm. "Explain to me why you ignored a direct order to stand down and nearly blew the whole mission."

"He was hurting you!"

Harry would like very much to believe that it leaves his mouth as a growl, or even a properly manly bark. He'd like to, but he has ears, and they catch the break in his voice just fine even if he couldn't feel it, the way he fades to nearly a whisper on the final, pathetic syllable.

It hurts to admit it, to cop to any weakness at all, though they all have them. They play at being flawless, heartless, untouchable, but they aren't, none of them. Just the other week Zayn nearly got his arm torn wrist to elbow by a guard dog because Niall froze, the cool weight of the gun steady in his hand but unable to pull the trigger before it attacked, paralyzed for one critical second by some instinct deeper than training, the gut-deep childish feeling that it wasn't right.

Niall had snapped out of it the next instant, squeezed the trigger and brought the hound down before it could do more than knock Zayn to the floor, but he was shaken, they could all see it. No one said anything, not during the job, and not when it was finished, and they were dragging their exhausted bodies back to the safe house. No one ever said anything when one of them broke. Zayn had picked himself up, dusted his hands and touched fingertips to Niall's shoulder in silent thanks, and that was all.

Harry broke a little harder when the knife licked out and drew a line of blood on Louis's cheek.

"He hurt you," he rasps, the words dragged up from the dark place that opened in the pit of his stomach when he saw Louis bleed. "He had a knife, and you were still shook up from that roundhouse to the head, I could see that—"

"That's—" Louis shakes his head, eyes squinted in plain confusion. "That's beside the point. I told you stay back and keep the hall clear. If we'd been pinned down we would've all been—"

"He hurt you!" Harry shouts, loud enough to make Louis flinch back a millimeter in surprise. "He isn't allowed to touch you! He made you bleed and I killed him, and I don't give a damn what my orders were, I'll do it again. I'll kill anyone who touches you—"

His voice is rising as he yells, getting more hysterical with every word, and it feels good. It feels really good, to scream into Louis's shocked, lovely face, to feel his throat go raw with shouting. It feels good to break down, because he's safe now.

He's safe with Louis, pinned under his weight, pressed firm between the ground and a body he knows so well. A body he's trained and fought and suffered beside for two years, that holds him together when he's hurt and guards him when he sleeps. He knows Louis's body so well, all its strengths and weaknesses, the minute shift of muscles before every move. When Louis's fingers flex around his wrists and his stomach tightens, Harry knows what's coming. He's still too stunned to do a damn thing when Louis kisses him.

It isn't a nice kiss. It's hard, pressing Harry's lips into his teeth, and a little angry. Their mouths are both sour with the taste of spent adrenaline, the sharp copper bite of Louis's blood where it trickled down his cheek and he smeared it messily away. Harry opens his mouth wide anyway, wants to taste it all.

He gives up a tiny groan and Louis tears himself away, though he doesn't go far. Harry can feel Louis's breath against his lips; he opens his eyes to see Louis drawn back mere inches, staring at him with want and frustration clear in his face. The cut on his cheek has opened again with the force of their kissing, blood beading in a narrow line before spilling over near the corner of one bright blue eye. Harry lifts himself as much as he can with Louis's hands still tight around his wrists and swipes his tongue out, licking a clean wet path over Louis's cheek and drawing a startled gasp.

"Harry," Louis groans, very close to Harry's ear. "You little weirdo, that's disgusting."

"You're not disgusted," Harry says confidently. He rocks his hips up a little, pressing between Louis's thighs where he's rapidly going hard. "You're turned on."

"I can be both at the same time," Louis says. "I'm extremely talented like that."

"I've always admired that about you," Harry agrees.

"You can't do that again."

"I think you'll find I can," Harry says, twisting to try and lick at Louis's face again, but Louis pulls back, turning an unexpectedly serious look on Harry.

"You can't do that again," Louis repeats. "That stunt back there. You put everyone in danger."

Harry feels his jaw tighten as anger flickers back to life inside him. "He was—"

"I don't care the reason." Louis's tone is cold, stern, but Harry can see the pleading in his eyes, asking Harry to understand. "I don't care if it's my throat next time, you break orders like that again and I will come back from hell to kick your arse. Do I make myself clear?"

A mutinous, still teenage-sullen part of Harry wants to argue, but he swallows it down, though he can't smooth out the curl in his lip when he spits back, "Fine, whatever. D'you think you can climb down from that power high long enough to kiss me now?"

"I'm serious," Louis warns, but he's already pressed close again, breathing it against Harry's mouth as grinds his hips down, and it doesn't carry nearly as much weight as the firm press of his thigh against Harry's cock, the delicious warmth of his tongue between Harry's lips.

"I think we're meant to be freaking out right now," Harry mumbles, too caught up in trying to stick his hand down the front of Louis's black spandex uniform to enunciate.

"Liam took a bullet in the shoulder last week, and do you know what he said?"

"He said, 'ow'," Harry says.

"He said, 'ow'," Louis says.

"You keep telling me these things like I wasn't there," Harry says, and Louis ducks his chin, catches his teeth on Harry's collarbone through the spandex and bites, hard. "Ow," Harry complains.

"Point is," Louis says, kissing up to Harry's jaw, "I don't think this is what we need to freak out about. Also, do that again." He grunts softly, eyes closing as Harry's rough hand moves over his cock. "Yeah, like that. See, you're so good when you follow commands."

Harry snorts. "Don't get used to it," he says, and then shuts up whatever obnoxious thing Louis's about to say with a filthy kiss.

It's not like Harry doesn't think Louis means his threats, or that he won't be furious the next time Harry does something stupid to save Louis's life. He knows him too well, knows that despite Louis's devil-may-care attitude toward many of life's rules, when it comes to the job and leading his team, he's an absolute dedicated professional. It's not that he thinks Louis will let him get away with it.

He'd just like to see Louis try and stop him.


End file.
